


The Emptiness of Silence

by memelessness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Ziraphon, Crowley is Corviel, Demon!Aziraphale, Other, Roleswap AU, angel!Crowley, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelessness/pseuds/memelessness
Summary: Some Reverse AU fluff





	The Emptiness of Silence

The music store had been closed for the day, due to a particularly heavy storm that had just hit London. Corviel sat still with a cup of tea, watching a flickering light as the raindrops created a symphony of their own. He needed to fix it. He knew someone was going to complain eventually, but it seemed to add a touch of charm to the whole ambiance. 

Every once in a while, the rain would silence (if only for a few moments before returning to its regularly scheduled uproar), sending chills through the angel. 

It was irrational for Corviel to have a fear, being an ethereal being made in the image of God herself, but he despised silence. Silence was the death of a civilization. Silence was deafening. That was why he loved music so much. Aside from it being so human, and so wonderful, it filled the void of emptiness that seemed to surround the entire world.

But the angel wasn’t listening to music now. He wanted to hear the rain, even if the short breaks bring him to the edge of mania.

He looked over to the door, then too the clock… Maybe if he was patient… no, if they were going to visit they would’ve by now. So the store was closed and best friend wasn’t doing a surprise ‘let’s go get lunch’ sort of visit. He had nothing to do.

Silence. Emptiness. Nothingness.

And then the wind began to pick up, shaking the windows slightly. He released the breath he didn’t realize he’d held onto. 

Corviel stood up, holding a mug in one hand and a walkman in the other (which, by a demonic miracle, happened to also be a bluetooth device). He made long strides to the back room.

The back had been a personal room for the angel to recluse. On the floor was a mattress topped with an assortment of pillows and some ruffled bed sheets. Between the wall and mattress, a short shelf lay horizontally where a vintage record player rest. 

By the window was an ancient guitar that he’d kept in perfect condition for centuries. It was made of Mahogany, accented with beautiful streaks of rosewood. Truly a sight to behold.

He pressed play on the Walkman, the speakers around the room playing softly. Bass to the right, tweeters above, midranges by the door and full-ranges filling in the rest of the accursed emptiness.

Then he fell gracefully into the mattress, peacefully listening to the sound of rain that now mingled with Queen.

\--

“Bae! You will not guess what happened, even I’m shook!” Ziraphon burst into the building sometime after the rain had ended, waving a magazine about, “Angel?” He looked around the building, watching the not-too-dark darkness that filled the usually bright music store. Maybe he wasn’t home?

“Corviel.” The demon knocked gently on the backroom door. He took a quick peek in, watching as the usually composed angel was grumbling in their sleep to fight the silence. 

Ziraphon would’ve left, leaving the angel to their own devices, had they not noticed the tears the pricked the edges of their eyes. He let out a sigh of false irritation, unfurling his rolled up sleeves.

The demon sat beside his sleeping angel, running gentle fingers through their hair. He was sure to avoid the tears as best he could, watching as they began to settle. He didn’t know about Corviel’s fear of silence (though it may have been a consideration, some centuries back).

 _The silence isn’t as bad with you here,_ the angel would have responded, had he been awake.


End file.
